


don't take me tongue tied

by lacecat



Series: spy verse [3]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, M/M, Minor Violence, Multi, Polyamory, Sexual Content, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-21 18:01:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14290323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacecat/pseuds/lacecat
Summary: “You have a problem,” Silver says from where he’s perched on the edge of the desk, “And it has nothing to do with my, and I quote,deep and utter lack of regard for appropriateness in the workplace, which seems like a bit of an overstatement for a friendly colleague just dropping by in this moment, as I am."“That’s not what I said,” Flint tells him. He makes a half-hearted attempt to stab at Silver’s thigh with his pen, since apparently his request to get off wasn’t enough. But the man just moves a little to the side, not even looking the slightest bit repentant as the movement knocks some file folder off Flint’s desk - past ammunition requests, it looks like. “And I certainly hope you know we’re pastfriendly colleaguesat this point.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> the sequel fic!!! because i love all of these fools (and this au gets written just a little too easily. i'm so sorry for all that's about to come)
> 
> if you haven't read at least the first one in the series this might make less sense, but also it's a long ass fic so you do you

“With languages, you are brought back to the time when those words were used, a time that you can barely comprehend in its placement given your limited context of personal history,” Thomas says, spreading his arms out, palms out. “With languages, you are given the very key to history, the way that ancient symbolic meaning was transcribed for the ages, reading what was decided to be relevant enough to be plucked out the very stream of time itself to be preserved for a future audience. With languages - “

 

A ringer goes off, and Thomas blinks, arms still outstretched. One of the students in the third row pulls out his phone with a sheepish expression, turning it off. “Sorry.”

 

Thomas lets his arms fall to his sides. “Am I already out of time?”

 

The class shifts; none of them want to say it, so Thomas sighs. “Well, your paper proposal is due next class - please, please remember to double space. If you have any questions, email is the best way…”

 

Once the classroom is empty, Thomas goes back behind the table. He has emails that he should send out, some papers to read - all sort of mindless work that already makes him feel tired just thinking about it. Thomas is in the middle of sliding his laptop back into his bag when there’s a voice at the top of the auditorium. “A tough class today, professor?”

 

Thomas glances up in surprise before he recognizes who it is. “I thought you were in Boston,” he says in surprise, going over to the stairs going along the side of the auditorium where Madi is walking down. “John was going to pick you up tomorrow!”

 

“I came back for my favorite,” Madi says teasingly before she hugs him. “You’re done for the day, right?”

 

“For you, I am,” Thomas says, squeezing her just a little more before letting go. “Did you change your flight?”

 

“Finished earlier than expected,” Madi tells him, in the easy way that sounds like she had some sort of conference, while Thomas just happens to know that her sort of conference usually involves a gun in her hand. She glances around the auditorium. “You know, I’ve never been to your place of work.”

 

“Welcome to the center of great minds and intellectual excellence,” Thomas says, waving around the empty room. “Today, it took me three tries to spell 'liaison’."

 

“I’ll give you a pass myself, just this once,” Madi says, smiling up at him, and he smiles back. He’s missed her. “I have a car outside, can I take you back?”

 

Thomas thinks to himself that the emails can wait. “That would be lovely,” he says, “Can you come over to ours for dinner tonight?”

 

Madi considers it. “Let me go back home to freshen up, and then we’ll be over at six if that works?”

 

“Ah, yes,” Thomas says, “Miranda’s working from home today, isn’t she?”

 

“Thomas Hamilton, professors should not sound so salacious.”

 

“Hmm, yes, have a good time freshening up,” Thomas says, and Madi rolls her eyes as he picks up his bag and follows her out.

 

 

•••

 

 

“You have a problem,” Silver says from where he’s perched on the edge of the desk, “And it has nothing to do with my, and I quote, d _eep and utter lack of regard for appropriateness in the workplace_ , which seems like a bit of an overstatement for a friendly colleague just dropping by in this moment, as I am."

 

“That’s not what I said,” Flint tells him, though the words do seem familiar. He makes a half-hearted attempt to stab at Silver’s thigh with his pen, since apparently his request to get off wasn’t enough. But the man just moves a little to the side, not even looking the slightest bit repentant as the movement knocks some file folder off Flint’s desk - past ammunition requests, it looks like. “And I certainly hope you know we’re past friendly colleagues at this point.”

 

“Undoubtedly,” Silver says, with the sort of smile that makes Flint want to pull him in and either punch him or kiss him, to be quite honest. But then he adds, "You’re sitting here like some sexually frustrated accountant, and I personally can attest to the fact that you are neither. So if I might inquire again, what is the problem that has led to why Guthrie has you chained to your desk?”

 

“Maybe I asked for it.”

 

Silver actually laughs at him. Sending another glare in his direction, Flint says, “Because the Hughes operation came to a shitty conclusion."

 

“And why was that, again?”

 

“Why the people that Miranda hire seem to be utterly useless in telling me critical information when I’m on the ground?”

 

“I’d like to see you say that to her face.”

 

“It’s a fair critique, and nothing personal against her. She would understand.”

 

“Or Madi’s.”

 

“I’m not looking to be shot in the knee, thanks.”

 

“All right, since you’re being particularly stubborn, I’ll help you out,” Silver says. “How about, why are you terrible at dealing with your fellow agents?”

 

“I’m not terrible at dealing with people,” Flint says, “We met on a mission that went terribly wrong, and look at where we are."

 

“I think we might be a rarity, darling,” Silver says. “What’s more concerning, is that apparently, I’ve learned that people around here don’t like working with you, which is absolutely their loss because it allows me to be in here instead.”

 

“You’re not allowed to be on missions with me anymore,” Flint points out. “There are policies in place - “

 

“No one cares about the policies except for you, because they’re outdated and don’t take into account the professional opinions of handlers nor agents,” Silver says. “Come on. We work well together, now that we’re past all of that, don’t we?”

 

“Yes,” Flint says, because it’s true, but before he can see Silver’s head physically swell, he adds, “And that’s why in my professional opinion, we shouldn’t work together. We’re both emotionally compromised - “

 

“Yes, yes, you’ve given me the pitch,” Silver says. “But I also have this mission that you would be particularly interested in joining me in, I think.”

 

Despite himself, Flint feels himself perk up. “You might as well tell me,” he allows, ignoring how Silver smirks. “What is it?”

 

“Infiltrating a homophobic church group to arrest the leaders on, oh, ten counts of tax evasion, kidnapping, or whatever else we can pin on them?” Silver says. “No lethal force allowed, unfortunately, but I know how you like to rid the world of evil a little bit at a time.”

 

“Tempting,” Flint says, because it is, “But still, no.”

 

“Fine,” Silver says, which surprises Flint because he usually doesn’t give in. ”I’ll give myself another two days to convince you to join me because it needs two agents. The mission’s not for another week, anyway. It’ll be like the good days, darling, and I miss having you shouting at me through a sniper scope when things go badly.”

 

“From what I remember, the two of us working together usually led to one or both of us being shot.”

 

“Yes, but that’s before we started having a rather ridiculous amount of sex - ow, come on, you know it’s true - “

 

 

  
•••

 

 

There are hands around her wrists, pushing her arms down with a thud. Madi twists her torso, trying to break free, but the added weight around her hips prevents her from moving.

 

“You’re getting better, you must have been practicing while I was gone - !” she says, and the last word turns into a gasp when hips grind down against hers. “Now if I - “

 

She manages to get her leg hooked up and around the torso above her until Miranda is landing beside her. Madi throws her weight over the other woman’s body, pressing against her from ankle to chest, as Miranda struggles in vain, before giving up, her head landing with a soft thud on the ground. With her chest heaving, dark hair splayed out on the hardwood floor, Madi thinks that she looks every bit the picture of home that she’s been dreaming about for the past few weeks.

 

“I think you got me now,” Miranda says, and there’s that amusing twist to her mouth that Madi desperately needs to kiss in that instant. 

 

“I do,” Madi says, pulling back long enough to just take a look at her again, and she dips her head down for another, longer kiss. For the next while, they forget anything other than the slide of their mouths together, Madi’s hands twisting into Miranda’s hair, Miranda making those sounds high in the back of her throat when Madi sucks on her lower lip, fingers working below her.

 

“I missed you so much,” Miranda says later, when they’ve collapsed next to each other on the ground once again and catching their breath. Madi’s blouse is nowhere to be seen as she sits up, and Miranda’s sporting at least two marks on her neck that means she’s going to have to find a turtleneck to wear tomorrow. “Work has been horrible.”

 

“Oh?” Madi asks because for Miranda to be bringing it up, it must be truly awful. “Do you want to talk about it?”

 

Miranda breathes through her nose once, before she sits up as well. Sitting across from each other now, Madi sees the bags under her eyes clearly. “Not particularly. But thank you for asking.”

 

“Boston was terrible without you,” Madi tells her, letting her knee lean against Miranda’s thigh. “I wish you could supervise my missions still. I miss having you talking in my ear.”

 

“I’d be the safest director ever,” Miranda says before she leans forward and kisses Madi’s forehead. “Come on, you promised Thomas we would join them for dinner.”

 

“I made a vast error, I’m afraid,” Madi says, as Miranda gets up, adjusting her skirt that had been pulled up to around her waist. “Can we cancel, do you think?”

 

“Don’t you want to see James and John?”

 

“We can have them come here,” Madi suggests, as Miranda pulls her up with her. “James might be embarrassed, yes, but John would be thrilled. You wouldn’t have to put on any clothes, and I could just keep you in bed - “

 

“We can be late,” Miranda says, more like she’s trying to convince herself, as Madi takes her hand and leads her into their bedroom. Her suitcases are still by the door, and she’s pretty sure that the door is still unlocked, but with Miranda looking at her like that, she finds that she couldn’t care less.

 

 

  
•••

 

 

They do arrive late. Thomas answers the door, and he doesn’t even raise an eyebrow when he takes in Miranda’s slightly smudged lipstick that she’s in the middle of trying to fix, or the fact that Madi’s wearing the same outfit that she had picked him up in after all. “Ladies,” he says, “The other two are in the dining room already.”

 

“Sorry we’re fashionably late,” Miranda says, pressing a kiss to his cheek, and they start to talk while Madi slips by them into the house.

 

She always liked Thomas and Flint's - and now Silver’s - house. Their living room is full of books nearly on every surface, tall bookshelves across the bay window and the coffee table always has a few interesting reads - but there are also elements that remind her of the occupants. There’s a large ship-in-the-bottle over the fireplace that she knows must belong to Flint, the round glasses that she’s seen Thomas wear once or twice laying on the side table. She also sees a record player in the corner, left open, and she certainly knows the owner of that.

 

Like he knew that she had arrived, John rounds the corner as she looks away from the record player. “Madi,” he says, and then he’s wrapping his arms around her. Madi breathes in his smell, the sharpness from the cheap deodorant that he refuses to switch from.

 

She draws her head back only just enough to kiss him, holding onto his shoulders. As to her surprise, he’s grown out his beard a little more since the last time she’s seen him, and the rasp of the mustache against her face is unexpected but not unpleasant.

 

John tilts her head a little to the side so that he can kiss her deeper, the way that she likes it, and it’s only with the careful coughing in the corner that they draw apart. “Sorry,” Flint says, “Hello, Madi.”

 

“Flint,” she greets, and with another quick kiss on John’s mouth, she goes over to hug him as well. “I trust you’ve been keeping him busy?”

 

“He tried to paint the walls bright orange last week,” Flint tells her, as John comes up to her side to put an arm around her waist. “I told him - “

 

“All right, before he tries to turn you to his side, let me tell my side of the story,” John insists, squeezing her just a little as he explains, “I had asked for a warm yellow to liven up the place, yeah? And the paint mixer at the store - this fool, Madi, you could have eaten him alive, he completely misunderstands - “

 

At dinner, Madi keeps to herself more than usual, partly because she’s tired from the flight still, but also because she loves to watch them all, the people she loves, talk and eat and just be there with her. Thomas and Flint, as always, are nearly sickeningly in the way they look and touch each other in a way that everyone but them can notice, especially when they share a fond look when Miranda and Silver get into an argument on some book they had both read (and to think, that she would see John Silver at a family dinner, arguing over a book).

 

Over dessert, Thomas and Silver alternate between telling Madi what she’s missed these past few weeks, with Miranda jumping in to correct details, leading to another debate over the occupation of their neighbor (Silver insists he’s a spy for a foreign government, perhaps the French, while Miranda thinks that a beleaguered realtor is much more reasonable, and Thomas reveals that he honestly didn’t know that they had a neighbor in that house once again).

 

Midway through, Flint nudges her lightly with his elbow. “Everything all right?” he asks quietly because out of all of them, he might notice the most. 

 

Madi just smiles at him, though, leans into his side. Across the table, Silver meets her eye, and the light dancing in his eyes does little to show how happy he looks right there, even as Miranda uses one hand to push him back a little so she can better say something to Thomas. “Everything is perfect,” Madi tells him.

 

 

  
•••

 

 

  
The next morning, Flint has the day off, so Silver decides that he should wake him up in a way that he will truly appreciate.

 

He takes a moment to stare at the lines on Flint’s face that soften in his sleep, the pieces of hair falling onto the pillow. He’s going to try to get a haircut soon, and it’s going to be a problem because Flint’s now going to the barber around the corner who keeps appointments in a bound book that neither Thomas nor Silver can hack into and delete the appointment. On the other side of Flint, Thomas is still fast asleep - he never wakes up before ten on the weekends - and Silver smiles fondly at the arm that’s slung over Flint’s waist, before he gets up. There are still wine bottles from last night on the table, and he tosses those neatly out of the window into the bins below (left open last night for this very purpose) before starting to cook.

 

Unfortunately, it’s the sound of the fire alarm that ends up waking Flint instead. He staggers into the kitchen, bathrobe half open around him - “What the fuck, Silver?”

 

“I was going to be romantic!” Silver says, from where he’s waving a dish towel at the screaming machine. “The toast has foiled my plans, it seems - ”

 

“I told you, you never put it on the highest setting,” Flint says, going over and unplugging it. He also fishes out the two charcoal bricks that had been sourdough bread at one point, tossing them into the sink when they must burn his fingers. “It’s not going to cook any faster that way!”

 

“I know, but the eggs distracted me,” Silver says, “Don’t look at me like that, it was going to be sweet.”

 

“Sweet’s not going to stop the house from burning down,” Flint tells him grimly, before snatching the dish cloth. “Stop that - just - “ and he yanks the fire alarm down, his arms reaching that last inch. As soon as he takes out the batteries, the screeching stops. “There. Finally.”

 

“You can go right back to bed now,” Silver tries, as Flint raises one eyebrow at him. “I’ll be in there in a minute - “

 

“I’m already up,” Flint says, and he picks up the spatula. “How about you go out and read the toaster manual, and I’ll finish cooking?”

 

“Hilarious,” Silver says, and he already goes to the far counter to lean against it, watching as Flint turns the stovetop back on. “Thomas awake?”

 

“I think it takes more than a fire alarm to get him up,” Flint answers nearly under his breath before a particular look comes over his face. “We should - “

 

“We are not looking into louder fire alarms,” Silver finishes his thought for him. “Think of how many times I set them off. Do you really want to be deafened like that?”

 

“But if something happens?”

 

“Well, good thing he’s sleeping with two spies who can probably carry him out of this place, and also, he’s a grown man,” Silver says, and he steps forward to put his arms around Flint’s waist. Flint must not be too annoyed with him, for he just leans a little back when Silver puts his chin on Flint’s shoulder. “If he has to jump out the window, well, he can use the parachute that you stashed under the bed, right?”

 

“Fine,” Flint says, “Go out, you’re going to distract me and then I’ll burn the eggs,” and he must be even less annoyed than Silver’s guess, for the close contact has made that pleasant shade of pink appear on the tips of his ears. “I’ll be done in less than ten minutes, I promise.”

 

Silver obeys, though, and he goes out to the dining room. He grabs two plates and three mugs, just in case Thomas wakes up early after all, since he prefers a liquid caffeinated breakfast above all, and sets them on the table.

 

When he goes to sit down, though, he nearly slips at the shooting pain that appears suddenly in his lower back. It aches somewhere deep inside the bone, and for a moment, Silver can’t do much more than clench his fingers, breath in shallowly as his spine feels like it’s trying to bend right inside him.

 

The pain recedes just as quickly as it had appeared, but instead of going away, it turns into a dull throb that persists. But he’s able to unfold his fingers, then, the whole episode barely a manner of minutes. In the background, Flint makes some muttering sound as a plate clatters on the counter, unaware as Silver stays perfectly still.

 

It’s not the first time that it’s happened. Ever since they had gotten back, there have been a handful of times like this - the sudden pain, the movement, and then in a few hours, it’s nearly vanished. He knows nothing can be wrong - he’s had two intensive physicals since, typical for the job, and nothing’s come up, and so he hasn’t brought it up.

 

Silver can’t think about it for any longer, though, because then Flint appears in the doorway, holding a plate of eggs, and Silver consciously relaxes his shoulders to hide that anything happened. He’s not going to bring it up when he’s absolutely sure that nothing is wrong - besides, Flint is a terrible worrier, gruff face aside, and Silver would rather eat the fire alarm itself than be a cause behind another line in his face.

 

So Silver tilts his head up and says, “Waiter, this has some terrible service, I’ve been waiting here forever - I’m going to demand that you make it up to me, you know,” and Flint rolls his eyes, knocking his hip into Silver’s shoulder as he walks around him, and Silver distracts himself with the way that Flint’s face finally relaxes as his foot nudges in between Silver’s under the table.

 

 

•••

 

 

Two days later, Flint’s meeting one of the other agents to exchange information when he gets the notification on his phone. Glancing at the email, he reads, Come _to room 318 in the south building at noon_.

That’s not ominous at all, he thinks to himself, and finishes up the meeting with Billy (who Flint has never liked, and he’s sure that Billy hates him probably from all the stories that Silver had told him back when they were friends and he hated Flint). The south building, located downtown, used to be owned by the agency, but now was mostly abandoned apartment complex buildings that they sometimes broke in for target practice.

 

After texting Thomas to make sure he’s all right, Flint thinks that if it’s someone trying to get money from holding Miranda, Silver, or Madi hostage, he shouldn’t be in a rush to see an empty chair and some kidnapper being strangled by zip ties. He doesn’t particularly care about anyone else in his life, so he takes his time heading to the south building and up into another elevator, making sure his gun is loaded nearly idly. He does take note of the fire exits though, just in case it is some sort of trap.

 

What he doesn’t expect, however, is to see Madi there once the elevator doors open. “If this is your way of inviting me to lunch,” Flint says as her head turns to meet his gaze, “Silver will never let either one of us live it down.”

 

Madi gives him a flat look that he’s learned to interpret as her version of exasperation. “It was not me,” she says, “Since it seems I received the same message as you.”

 

Well, that, he didn’t expect either. They look at each other, and then at the door in front of them, helpfully labeled as 318 in peeling gold paint. On some unspoken agreement, they both draw their guns as Madi slowly pushes open the door, and they both enter the room.

 

Inside, there are three chairs around a rectangular table, and a bright light just above. The side of the abandoned apartment is all glass windows, though, so the figure sitting in one of the chairs is clear. “Hello Special Agent Scott, Flint,” Hal Gates says, his eyes sharp. “Apologies for the relocation.”

 

“Mr. Gates,” Madi says, lowering her gun just a little when Flint does. “We did not expect you.”

 

“Hal,” Flint says, “What is this?”

 

“It’s been a while,” Gates says, gesturing to the chairs in front of him. “Please, sit.”

 

 

  
•••

 

 

It happens again when he’s in the elevator heading up to Eleanor’s office. He’s considering his own reflection in the mirror, and that’s when the pain appears once again in his back, making Silver reflexively grab onto the bar to the side. It lingers far longer this time, going down into his thigh and staying there as the doors open, and Silver steadies himself before walking out.

 

He can’t hide all of the limp as he goes into the office, nodding to the secretary as he knocks on Eleanor’s door. Luckily, her head is down as he takes a seat. During the meeting, he perhaps pays the most attention he’s ever done to Eleanor, who just looks at him with a suspicious eye for a long moment before handing him the next file for the upcoming assignment that he’s still trying to convince Flint to join him on.

 

Instead of sitting back at his desk to transcribe some documents, though, Silver locks them away before going back down another floor. For it to move to his legs like that - that, he’s not used to. If that were to happen on a job, or heavens forbid, with Flint, Thomas, Madi -

 

“Max,” Silver says as he knocks once on the door frame because whatever Flint says, he does have manners, “I heard you were assigned on that case in Belarus.”

 

Max shoots him an unimpressed look from her desk, behind neat stacks of file folders and her computer. “And?”

 

“And I came to wish you luck,” he says, “I, personally, hate the weather there, so pack extra gloves. Mind if I sit?”

 

“If you’re here to ask me a favor, I’ll have to remind you that you’re the one who owes me still.”

 

“Really? After I found those emeralds for that anniversary gift that someone forgot about?”

 

"Flint still frowns when he sees me, and that was just me telling you his birthdate, so I fear what you want from me now.” Max sets down her fountain pen. “Well?”

 

“Actually,” Silver says, “Yes, I am here - for a favor, but it’s not what you’re thinking." He lets the door slide closed behind him. “It’s for me.”

 

Max frowns at him then, but it’s much more concerned than he’d like to see already in this conversation. “Is everything all right?”

 

“I need to ask your opinion, and not as a friend,” Silver answers instead. “It’s somewhat more medical in nature.”

 

“If you need some sort of test done, I’m going to insist you go to the hospital clinic.“

 

“No, not that.” Silver takes another step in so that he can put his hands on the back of the chair in front of the desk. It’s harder than he would like to admit to get the words out. “I have been having some - difficulty, with my back, and my leg.”

 

“An injury?” Max presses a button on her computer, leaning forward to look at him, her face entirely professional. “I was unaware you were injured from Cairo.”

 

“I wasn’t,” Silver says. “It’s... been going on for a while now.”

 

“Perhaps you should go to one of the physicians - “

 

“I don’t want to,” Silver says, “I just need your opinion. Please, Max."

 

“Silver,” Max starts, “I respect your privacy, but I have an obligation - “

 

“You don’t sign off on my health forms, so you don’t need to tell Eleanor or anyone else anything,” Silver points out. It’s part of the reason why he came to her in the first place, after all. As Max’s eyes narrow, he says, “Listen - if it was really bad, or could compromise me in any way, I would let you know, right? I’d tell someone, certainly.”

 

Max just sighs. “Fine,” she says, “But only because I fear that you would go to no one else if I refused to listen.”

 

Silver ignores that part, as he comes around to the chair. He sits down, feeling Max’s eyes on him, and he lets the truth come out. “It doesn’t - hurt as much, now, but it comes and goes,” Silver says. “This pain, it usually starts in my back and goes down to my leg. I don’t know what sets it off.”

 

“Did you injure it in the past?”

 

“I was shot in the thigh, a few years ago,” Silver says. “But the surgeon herself thought that it was one of the best-healed cases she’s ever seen, and nothing showed up on an x-ray, nor have I had any problems with that specifically. I’ve been in my fair share of scrapes, but this sort of pain - it just stays for hours at a time, in the background, and not in any particular place at times.”

 

“How often does this happen?”

 

“Every couple of weeks, at first,” Silver says, then stops. “Recently - more often.”

 

“I’m not familiar with what you’re speaking about,” Max says slowly, carefully, “But have you spoken to a physician about it?”

 

“They haven’t found anything wrong,” Silver says, and he slouches a little in his chair. “I don’t want to go in, because then it’ll be put down on my file somewhere, and that could be reason enough to ground me.”

 

“Silver, if you think it might interfere with a mission - “

 

“Not yet,” Silver says, “But I wanted to - I don’t know, talk it through with someone.”

 

Max looks at him for a long time, enough so that Silver feels like he’s actually talking to a silent physician of some sort. “What is it?”

 

“Has it been going on since the mission in Hampstead?” Max asks him, and Silver blinks, caught off guard.

 

“Hampstead?”

 

“Your mission with Flint,” she says. “Did it happen before then?”

 

“I don’t think so,” Silver says, “But a lot has happened since then."

 

“Have you been sleeping regularly?” Max asks him. “Any other symptoms that might be a part of this?”

 

“Max, it’s not some sleep problem,” Silver says, and even to his own ears, it sounds defensive. “Do you know what it might be?”

 

Max frowns, leaning back. “What are you so concerned about?”

 

"Concerned? I have mystery pain, Max. Of course I'm - "

 

"It doesn't sound like the complete picture," Max tells him bluntly. "If you want my opinion, you need to tell me." 

 

They stare at each other for a long moment. “What if it’s in my head?” Silver asks, and the words are finally out there, but it doesn’t feel any better than turning them over in his head in the early morning. “What if it’s something that’s not so easily fixed?”

 

“Silver, if there is something wrong, you should find out,” Max tells him. “In my professional opinion, I would tell you to consult with someone who knows more than field medicine, but as your friend - do you not think that you would be taken care of, if the worst were to happen?”

 

 _Taken care of_. “The worst - Jesus Christ, Max, what do you think it is?”

 

“I think you need to see someone,” Max says firmly, “You can get something to help with the pain, even. But given the… unofficial nature of this, I’m not going to turn you in, or whatever you think I’ll do. I respect you as a professional, so I trust that if it gets worse, or interferes, you will have the sense to let someone else know. But John - please, consider going before anything happens.”

 

“I’m fine, Max,” Silver says, standing up. He makes sure to hide any sign of the lingering pain that’s still persistent in his hip from Max’s watchful gaze as he says, “I always am.”

 

He calls Flint, but he doesn’t pick up, nor does Madi. He texts Thomas instead - _thinking about calling it an early day, get ready 2 have ur hip bf pick u up in a compounded car xoxo_ \- and Thomas texts back a winking emoji.

 

Before leaving, Silver sits in his car in the parking lot, letting his head loll back against the seat as he breathes with the keys just sitting in the ignition, before turning the key to drive. Nothing is wrong. Something in his knee twinges. He doesn’t need anyone to worry about him, he tells himself. He will be fine.

 

 

•••

 

 

Flint has known Gates for about ten years now. They were in the same group of new hires that the agency put together, and while Flint went on to become an agent, Gates went more into the administration side of things, like Miranda.

 

That’s why Flint keeps his temper in check when Gates avoids their questions at first, as he and Mad sit down at the table across from him. “Hal,” Flint says, because he at least wants to warn him before he does lose his temper, “What is this all about?”

 

Gates looks at him for a long, considering moment, then his eyes shift over to Madi. “There is a special operation,” he says, “That has been years in the making. One that requires the highest level of consideration before it can be handed off.”

 

Flint frowns. Miranda hasn’t even mentioned a hint of this sort of level of operation - but it’s as though Gates can read his mind, for he looks back at Flint. “Director Hamilton is unaware of the specifics of this,” he says, “And while both of you have… personal connections, including to the director, it is your specific skillets that are required for this mission that has allowed me and the other people in charge of this to select you as candidates for this.”

 

Beside him, Madi’s face doesn’t even budge as she keeps her professional mask on. “I see,” she says, “But why keep the agency unaware of this? I presume that is why this meeting is off official grounds.”

 

“There have been developments that have occurred in regards to this case,” Gates says slowly, looking between them. “I cannot tell you more until I have you sworn to secrecy about the details regarding this operation, unfortunately.”

 

He’s already brought them here, so as Flint glances to Madi, they exchange a look, and come to some unspoken agreement. Without looking away from Flint, Madi says, “We understand.”

 

“I’m afraid I’ll need confirmation from both of you.” Gates pauses. “Anyone outside of this room, including partners of any kind, cannot know about this. I need to hear that you understand that.”

 

“Yes,” Flint says, and they look back at Gates. “What is the mission?”

 

“There has been a leak of information in the agency,” Gates tells them. “You two have been the only ones of your caliber we were able to vet completely."

 

Flint has seen a lot of ugly things in his time. Even from his childhood, his time in the Navy, and this job - there is a lot that doesn’t surprise him. That doesn’t mean, however, that he is immune to the sick feeling that bubbles up when Hal sets a folder down on the table between them, and the photo on the top of the file is of one Alfred Hamilton.

 

“Alfred Hamilton,” Gates says, looking right at Flint. “I believe you might be familiar with him.”

 

 

•••

 

 

He has a missed call from Silver that afternoon when he and Madi part ways in front of the south building. As he heads back, a text pops up on his screen, and Flint dials his number back.

 

“Hey,” Silver says two rings in. “Just called to let you know. Nothing important.”

 

“All right,” Flint says, “I’ll be home soon.”

 

“Anything happen today? I couldn’t find you in the building today.” There’s some shuffling noise, like Silver’s adjusting the phone, maybe speaking to someone in the background - Thomas, by the sound of it. “Thought I’d try to convince you to join me in the janitor’s closet for old times’s sake, at least. Thomas says hello, by the way.”

 

Flint stares down at the two rings on his hand. “No,” he says. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which james remembers meeting the hamiltons, silver maybe gets an answer, and madi definitely gets answers
> 
> (cw for this chapter for implied abuse and some homophobia in a flashback, bc alfred hamilton)
> 
> i'm physically incapable of not writing angst but lighter days ahead, just after this chapter

Flint stirs to the sound of soft footsteps leaving the room. He opens one eye, looking at the red glow of the alarm clock  \- far too early for it to be time to get up, even if the lack of light from the window wasn’t an indication.

 

 When he turns his head, he sees Thomas’s sleeping face. After picking up his head ever so slightly, he confirms the absence he’s suspected on the far side of the bed, and he gets up, closing the bedroom door behind him. 

 

“If you’re sleepwalking, I’m going to take a video to blackmail you,” Flint says before he pads into the living room, not wanting to startle him. Silver’s sitting on the couch, the back of his head only visible from here, but he turns as Flint enters, evidently having been aware enough to at least hear him walk in. 

 

“Like you’d be able to figure out how to take a video on your phone, old man,” Silver says. He doesn’t have that drawn expression that Flint had feared he’d walk into, though, as he pats the couch. “I saved you a seat.” 

 

“This couch is probably older than you,” Flint says, but he sits down anyways. He and Thomas had bought it second hand when they first moved into the flat, the raised blue patterned monstrosity that Thomas called “nostalgic”.  “Since I know your work ethic is poor enough that you’re not working out here, care to explain why you’ve forced me to leave a warm bed?” 

 

“Maybe I was worried about missing the flight tomorrow. I do only have  \- oh, would you look at that, only thirty-seven hours to get to the airport."

 

“Silver."

 

“Phone call,” Silver says easily, although Flint probably would’ve heard a phone ring, he decides not to press him on it. “Eleanor wanted final confirmation on who’s joining me on the mission.” 

 

Flint sighs. “I'm - “

 

Silver cuts him off. “That’s all right,” he says, leaning back into the worn cushions, and Flint hates himself a little for the way his words had made Silver's face go distant for the slightest second before an easy -looking smile comes across his face.  “Hey, I’ll have an incentive to finish up quickly with me and Billy.” 

 

“Billy can have his uses,” Flint allows, and Silver rolls his eyes. 

 

“Oh, the confidence is staggering."

 

“If you need me,” Flint says because Gates’s mission be damned, he would, “You can call me. “

 

“It’s a routine short-term infiltration, I’d put money on about twelve days,” Silver says. “But I appreciate the offer.” 

 

“Did you just _thank_ me? You must've been awake for a long time to let such a thing slip.” 

 

“Hilarious,” Silver says, and both of their heads turn when the bedroom door, surprisingly, creaks open. “Oh look, there’s the man of the hour.”

 

“I hate waking up to an empty bed,” Thomas says, sounding rather sullen as he runs a hand over his face. “Tell me that some political leader was assassinated, or so help me, get back in here.” 

 

“I didn’t think you’d wake up,” Flint says. “Did you fall out of bed?” 

 

“I honestly thought you were physically incapable of movement before the sun rises,” Silver says with mock awe as he stands to approach Thomas, the intent clear in his nearly lazy steps. “Maybe the CIA has improved on their face masking technology?” 

 

“I liked you better when you were unsure of me,” Thomas says with a put-upon pout as he lets Silver push him against the wall, and Flint watches as Silver’s hand finds its way to Thomas’s hip, lifting his head to kiss the base of his neck. “You think you can just wake me up and put your hands on me?” 

 

“He seems to be doing both just fine,” Flint points out, and Thomas narrows his eyes at him over Silver’s head before letting his head fall back a little more. “But isn’t it - “

 

“If you say _it’s too early for this,_ I’m taking your husband into the bedroom and not inviting you,” Silver says without turning around. He steers Thomas by the hips, directing him back to the bedroom door and pushing him in. He can hear muffled laughter even as the door swings on its hinge, the creaking of floorboards under their feet, Thomas’s laugh turning into a moan. 

 

Flint gets up, stretching. There have been worse reasons to still be awake at this hour, he thinks, as he goes to follow them.

 

 

•••

 

 

 

Officially, they can’t see Silver off at the airport, because that’s against about twenty different rules about undercover work, but Flint calls in late that day to drive him there. Silver had spent the night before with Madi, and Thomas has a meeting he can’t miss, so it’s just the two of them. 

 

Before they left, Silver had shaved his beard off (rolling his eyes to Flint’s expression in the mirror behind him as he watches, aghast, how Silver seems to de-age about twenty years in front of his eyes). He puts on both a blond wig and brown contacts, the latter of which he spends most of the drive complaining about.

 

 “Fucking _ow_ ,” Silver says for the third time, rubbing his left eye hard, “Why have they yet to make these comfortable?” 

 

“Stop touching your eyeball,” Flint says sternly, as he pulls up in the empty abandoned lot near the airport. Silver waits for him to put the car into idle, then meets him halfway over the console in a hungry, nearly bruising kiss, during which a plane passes just overhead their car. Flint’s not quite sure which makes the world outside fade away more, the rumbling of the jets or Silver’s teeth pulling his lip. 

 

He pushes Silver away, eventually, so that he doesn’t miss his flight  “Don’t get shot,” Flint tells him out the window, as Silver pulls his duffle bag over his shoulder, in which Flint had slipped another revolver. “And don’t let Billy convince you he knows how to actually fire a grappling hook.” 

 

“Don’t worry,” Silver says, and even though they no longer have the safety of the tinted windows, he leans down and quickly kisses Flint again. “I’m a professional, baby."

 

He leaves, whistling as he walks towards the airport departures, while Flint watches him go. 

 

 

 

•••

 

 

 

He drives in silence to the agency. As soon as he pulls up to his usual spot in the garage, Madi’s waiting, leaning against a concrete pillar, her arms crossed in front of her. Her eyes meet his through the windshield, and he unlocks the car. 

 

“We have more information about the assignment,” she says to him once she slides into the front seat, as he turns the car off. “Gates talked to me this morning.”

 

Flint looks ahead, keeping his hands on the steering wheel. “About?” 

 

“Alfred Hamilton’s company, they’re contracted by us,” she says. “They run our cybersecurity through a third party server. Gates told me they think that the leak is someone involved in our tech department who has access to that server, which narrows that down to about two hundred names.” 

 

“We can rule out any part-time employee,” Flint says, already running through the contacts he knows he’ll be able to use to investigate further. “The magnitude of an intelligence leak that has Gates working on it, it’s someone who’s been working for at least two years with the agency, likely longer. That's only about fifty.” 

 

“I have the lists,” Madi says. “Gates wants us to do recon in the department. If you can cover that, I’ll lead the protection detail in the company as Gates requested.”

 

“That works,” Flint says, and he pulls the keys out of the ignition. 

 

Madi doesn’t get out of the car, though, and he looks over at her. “What is it?” 

 

“Alfred Hamilton,” Madi says, and Flint braces himself for the question that he knew had been in her head ever since she had seen him react to Alfred’s photo. “He is Thomas’s father?” 

 

Flint doesn’t move a muscle. “Yes.”

 

“Does he know who you are?” 

 

“I haven’t talked to him in years,” Flint says. 

 

“Would he recognize you?” 

 

“Probably. He and I… He and Thomas became estranged once we were together.” _Alfred Hamilton certainly hates me, and I despise him,_ he doesn’t say. But given the line that appears between Madi’s eyebrows, he thinks that she might know him far too well to hide such a thought. 

 

“Why did Gates put you on this case?” Madi asks, and her face is in a fixed expression that he knows means that she’s gauging his reaction carefully. “You have a personal attachment, and you cannot interact with Alfred Hamilton without the operation being blown.” 

 

“Our mission is to find the leak,” Flint says, forcing his tone to stay neutral. “Ideally, that’s without letting them know that we’re onto them. If that happens, Gates wants us to protect Hamilton in case he becomes potential collateral damage by the leak covering their tracks. This mission requires that only one of us be in the Hamilton corporation in the first place, and you are more than qualified to do that by yourself.” 

 

“Can you?” 

 

Flint frowns, jerking his head to look back at her. “Are you questioning my ability to remain impartial?” 

 

“Yes,” Madi says frankly. "If Alfred Hamilton is in the line of fire, we need someone who doesn’t want to push him there.” She looks out the passenger window. “I need to know if this will become an issue. I can find another agent - “ 

 

“Gates told us himself, he’s only been able to clear us.”

 

“Then I’ll wait until John comes back, and have Gates clear him,” Madi says. For a moment, Flint pictures Silver facing Alfred Hamilton, and he nearly snorts. “I don’t want to jeopardize the mission in any way, and I believe you would be the best choice for this still, but I do not wish to put you in an  -  undesirable position.” 

 

“This is time-sensitive,” Flint says. “We're the best agents for this task, and we can’t wait for Silver. Madi - “ and she looks back at him, “I’ll be fine. This will be fine.” 

 

He neglects to add it’s because he already knows that this might be the shittiest mission he’s ever been on, and that includes that time in Ontario. 

 

Madi studies his face, and although she doesn’t look convinced, she nods, after a moment. 

 

He just wishes he could tell Thomas. But that would land them both in even more unpleasant situations, and, well - Flint hasn’t told him the specifics of missions before. He’ll just treat this the same as others. 

 

 

 

•••

 

 

 

Flint met Alfred Hamilton because that’s the thing you’re supposed to do, meet your fiancé’s parents when you’re going to marry them. Then, he only went by McGraw, and he had been out of the Navy for a matter of weeks before the fateful dinner. 

 

He had been to some of the events that the Hamilton family had thrown, but he had never personally met Alfred, mostly because Thomas had said, _He’s not a very nice man_ , and Flint had read between the lines there. He also had Miranda recount the few times she had met Thomas’s family, back when she and Thomas were married, and from her grimaces, Flint could only guess what happened there, and so he didn't have high hopes for the dinner from the start. 

 

But he had also been young and foolish, then, and some part of him, despite his pessimistic nature, had thought,  _This is the family that made Thomas. How bad could they be?_

 

Thomas had told him about the family dinner with the sort of grim tone usually reserved for informing others about mass fatality incidents, and that should have been the first warning. Still, Flint had gotten a haircut, bought a bottle of wine for them to take, and he had held Thomas’s hand in the car as Thomas had anxiously drummed the fingers on his other hand on the wheel. 

 

Outside of the grand Hamilton estate, that Flint had stared up at through the windshield, Thomas had told him again, _Remember, my family is… the traditional sort,_ in a reserved way that had surprised him. Thomas was far from reserved, ever, and as soon as they entered the house, Flint had watched with more than a little horror as Thomas seemed to shrink just standing there among his relatives, eyes darting from side to side as he made introductions in the parlor. 

 

He remembers that Alfred Hamilton had Thomas’s eyes, but instead of the warm, intelligent, loving light that Flint was used to seeing, the elder Hamilton’s eyes were mean and unflinching when he looked at Flint. “You must be my son’s friend,” he said, like he had never seen Flint before in his life. “Thomas? You aren’t going to introduce us?” 

 

“James McGraw, sir,” Flint said, and even though Alfred shook his hand, his lip curled. 

 

“Fiancé, Father,” Thomas added from beside him. "We’re going to be married in the spring.” 

 

“Oh, dear,” Thomas’s stepmother  \- Flint doesn’t even think that he ever learned her given name, to be truthful - had said, after a long pause. “Whatever happened to that… fascinating woman - Miranda, was it?”

 

“Yes, Miranda,” Thomas replied. “We’ve been divorced - oh, three years, by now. She gives her regards.” 

 

“Oh,” the stepmother said. “A pity.” 

 

 Alfred had just stared at Flint with cold, cold eyes. 

 

Before the main entrée, Thomas’s father had told the family that Thomas’s political platform was unrealistic, that he didn’t have _the right sort of friends_  to gain donors, and just how he disapproved of how Thomas had dealt with practically everything in his life up to this point. Flint had promised Thomas that he wouldn’t lose his temper, so he kept his tight fists underneath the table, ignoring how Alfred Hamilton’s sneer when Thomas had touched Flint on the arm when telling the family how they met. 

 

The one bright spot, he had remembered, was talking to Thomas’s slightly senile grandmother when Alfred disappeared for a business call briefly. She had made Thomas crack a smile when she insisted that James was the dead ringer of her deceased husband’s brother, _and he was a handsome man, Tommy, very good that he made the right pick_.

 

That smile had gone away as soon as Alfred had returned to the table, however, as Alfred had turned his attention onto Flint, and spent a fair amount of time asking - well, telling - Flint about how his life choices and _situation_  were far from ideal, weren’t they? Flint remained calm and polite, even though each time Alfred brought up _his friendship_ with Thomas, Flint mentally replied, _Pardon, sir, but I don’t fuck most of my friends, and I’ve certainly fucked your son._

 

It was over the third course when Alfred had insinuated for the second time that Flint was worming his way into the Hamilton inheritance by marrying Thomas, that Thomas finally threw down his napkin. “Father,” he says with the most energy he’s had all evening, “Might I have a word in private?” 

 

As Thomas and his father left, Flint had picked at his food. He really had no interest in being there without Thomas, but it felt rude to hide in the bathroom again - he had gone in there twice to stare at his reflection and take a deep, _deep_  breath. The longer he sat in the uncomfortable wooden chair, though, Flint wondered if he could get away with faking a minor medical emergency and having Thomas take him home.

 

“I believe Thomas mentioned that you were a soldier,” one of Thomas’s aunts had said rather delicately as she took a sip of white wine. “An excellent choice for some men.” 

 

“I was in the Navy,” Flint said, and then he heard the raised voices in the distance, far too loud for any mere conversation. 

 

No one else at the table seemed to react, but Flint  was on his feet before he realized it. He headed to the study, despite the disapproving gasps from the rest of the table.

 

Flint would have gotten lost in the corridors of the house had it not been for the increasing volume, until he finally found the right door and pushed it open. Inside, Thomas and Alfred were so busy shouting at each other that neither noticed Flint enter the study. 

 

“  \- not have _my son_  waste away his life, make a fool of himself - “

 

“ - cannot see beyond your own _dated views_ to do what is right, to appreciate the fact that I found - "

 

“ _Appreciate?_ I gave you everything, you should appreciate what I have done for you - “

 

“You’re a bigot, Father, and you are being  _horrible_  to James,” Thomas told him, breathing heavily. “I don’t need your approval, but I will not tolerate this - ” 

 

“ _You do not talk to me like that_ ,” Alfred Hamilton had hissed at his son, taking a menacing step forward. Without fully thinking through his action, Flint had picked up the nearest object  \- a book - and he had thrown it right at Alfred Hamilton’s balding head. 

 

“ _You_  do not talk to my fiancé like that,” Flint said in a low voice, in the stunned silence that had followed. He stepped forward until he was right between Thomas and his father, nose to nose with Alfred as he added, “ _Sir.”_

 

The blow had barely drawn blood, but Alfred had been enraged enough that he had threatened to call the police if they didn’t leave at that moment. Thomas tugged Flint out of his family’s house as Flint and Alfred continued to shout at each other, as his family had gathered, most looking scandalized, to peer out the front window as Flint had driven them out of the driveway on Thomas’s urging, his grandmother the only one waving goodbye at them. 

 

Five minutes into the silent car trip back to their apartment, Flint finally dared to look over at his fiancé. Thomas’s shoulders were shaking, and for a single, terrifying moment, Flint thought that he was sobbing, and _Jesus fucking Christ, he had hurt Thomas’s father, what sort of_ monster _was he_ - 

 

But Thomas turned his face to Flint, and although there were tears in his eyes, once he took his hand away from his mouth, Flint could see the twitch of his mouth. “You threw a copy of Dorian Gray at my father’s head,” Thomas said, and Flint blinked.

 

“I - that was not an intentional choice of literature - “

 

“Oscar Wilde just rolled over in his grave to applaud you, dear,” Thomas says, and then they were both laughing uncontrollably, Thomas in near hysterics and Flint desperately wiping his eyes free of the tears that had started in his own eyes, half incredulous, half because he loved this ridiculous man so much it nearly hurt. 

 

Eventually, Alfred Hamilton’s lawyer had sent Thomas the paperwork notifying him that he was cut from the company’s shares, and then the next week, his inheritance as well. Thomas had thrown the papers into the garbage, before pressing Flint against the counter and kissing him so softly that Flint thought that he could cry all over again.

 

(Thomas’s grandmother was able to attend their wedding, with the aid of a sympathetic cousin supervising her in her wheelchair, a few months before she passed away. Flint had danced with her, and after a glass of champagne, she had suggested to him that she wished she had an affair with her husband’s brother after all. Thomas took a photo of the two of them that’s somewhere on their mantle at home.)

 

So, yeah. Alfred Hamilton certainly hates James Flint for a variety of reasons, including leading to the estrangement of his only son and injury regarding philosophic novels, and Flint hates him for, oh, about thirty years of the trauma he had induced on Thomas. 

 

He’s not sure that even if he _could_  tell Thomas about the mission regarding the Hamilton corporation that he would want to - especially since Thomas had made it clear, partly to soothe Flint’s guilt over the matter, that he doesn’t regret cutting ties with Alfred, yet he becomes slightly withdrawn at the mere mention of the man to this day. 

 

But he’s a professional. He’s learned how to compartmentalize, and he can do it now.

 

 

•••

 

 

 

The mission goes smoothly at the start. Silver and Billy assume their roles of brothers who had moved into town for work, now looking for a church to join to please their mother back in the country, and just happen to stumble upon this group. 

 

Silver knows from the intelligence they’ve collected that the low-level church members are harmless enough, but the leader and his squad, well, they have a long record of misdemeanors that now has moved into arms trafficking, and they’re likely behind the deaths of two men already. Billy works on finding the schedules of the main perpetrators so that they can have a clean arrest, while Silver’s focus is on finding where the guns are stashed. 

 

He’s good at this, working cons to get people to trust him, invite him into their lives. The key to any good infiltration is coming up with some secret that he accidentally lets slip over a few beers two nights in, so that people know that their gut instinct that Sam Lancaster trying to hide something is right, but they assume it’s something to do with the chop shop that _really_ , _it’s a stepping stone in a way,_   _we're trying to get up and running here so we can start something more… legit, you know?_

 

Everyone has something to hide. It’s just a matter of determining what you do or don’t reveal to others and feeding right into what they think they know. 

 

It looks like the mission’s going to be done even sooner than they expected, too. By day nine, Silver’s helping the church leader paint some of the railings out front - well, chatting him up and learning more about his views than Silver would have ever liked - when the pain hits. He watches, helpless, as the glossy black paint spills on the concrete, dripping down the steps, as he gasps out loud. 

 

“Tony - someone get Tony,” the man orders, as Silver collapses onto the steps. “Can’t have the ambulance come here - "

 

People begin to gather around him, and Silver has to squeeze his eyes tightly shut as pain ricochets up his side, his leg. Billy appears overhead, lifting him up. “Shit,” he mutters, then, “Sam - breathe in, breathe out - "

 

At the clinic, Silver’s finally able to breathe better from the wheelchair someone got for him when Billy carried him into the waiting room. Now, Billy sits across from him in a folding chair, once he figures out that Silver’s not passing out yet. “Unless this is some plan of yours,” he says under his breath, “This isn’t good.”

 

Silver keeps his breath shallow when the pain flickers up his hip once again. “Is it done?” 

 

“Well, they’re not about to risk having you die in the middle of them,” Billy says, and Silver clenches his hand just a little, fingernails digging into his palm. “Go in, get yourself checked out. I’ll call our friend.” 

 

“Mr. Lancaster?” one of the nurses asks, and Silver lets himself be wheeled in, leaving Billy in the waiting room. 

 

 

•••

 

 

Flint finds himself aware of Silver’s absence with a surprising intensity. Silver’s been gone before, sure, but as the business with Hamilton corporation and finding the leak goes on, he misses having Silver even bothering him during the work day, texting him inappropriate things that Flint reads during his lunch break. 

 

It doesn’t help that Thomas is busy with student exams and supervising his graduate students. Most of the time, both he and Flint are too exhausted to do much more than cook dinner, briefly share about their days (which of course, Flint can’t, not fully) before falling asleep in their bed. 

 

Miranda has to leave, traveling all the next week, so Madi joins them for dinner one night. Thomas even manages to get out of a late meeting to join Flint cooking, and as he laughs, bright and loud, when Flint tries to throw a cherry tomato at his head and misses on purpose, he insists, Flint thinks that the bad week is looking up. 

 

Madi arrives, looking tired but happy to see them. She brings with her assorted pastries in a plain white box from that bakery downtown that Thomas adores, which Thomas makes excited noises over as he brings it into the kitchen, leaving Madi and Flint in the living room. 

 

After a moment, Flint hugs her.  They’re both caught up in the mission, yes, but Flint knows that having both Silver and Miranda’s absence isn’t helping Madi at all, as he puts a hand on her back, and she squeezes him tightly before letting him go. They don’t need to say anything, as they join Thomas in the dining room, because they both understand. 

 

“This is nice,” Thomas says later, over the clinking sound of silverware against their plates, as he leans against Flint’s shoulder. “It’s rarely just the three of us, isn’t it?” 

 

“Mmm,” Flint acknowledges, scooping more mashed potatoes up with his fork. Today had been a tough day. Madi had been at the Hamilton corporation, and Flint had watched through the camera in one of her shirt buttons as she had been escorted around under the guise of being a legal representative of a potential investor. Madi had shaken Alfred Hamilton’s hand, the bastard looking down at her already, and Flint had to remember not to break the computer mouse under his hand. 

 

“Probably not since Hampstead,” Madi says, in between bites of chicken. “Remember when I was in charge of your training?” 

 

Thomas clinks his glass against hers. “Those were good times,” he reflects. “The most fun I ever had attempting to pin someone to the ground.”

 

“You were a great student,” Madi says with a small smile, and Flint huffs out a laugh at the memory.

 

"It’s a shame that I’m not your undercover husband all the time,” Thomas reflects as he sets down his glass. “We worked so well together. I haven’t even been boxing since I got back.” 

 

“You mean you haven’t practiced since?” 

 

“Well,” Thomas says, “I did pin down James the other day, but hardly in a training manner.“

 

Flint chokes on the bite of potato as Madi laughs, putting that all-too-pleased look on Thomas’s face. “I’m getting us more wine,” Flint says, standing up from the table. 

 

He goes into their pantry, their once-organized, well-stocked pantry before Silver had moved in. Now, next to the vintage wine, there’s an alarming number of cereal boxes in bright colors that quite honestly makes Flint’s eyes hurt, as he pushes them aside to get another bottle. He does adjust a box, though, feeling another pang when he thinks about Silver’s green-stained tongue waggling at him. 

 

When he comes back, though, the mood seems much more somber. Flint glances at both of them, the bottle in his hands, wondering what he had missed. “Thomas?” 

 

“I just was telling Madi about my father,” Thomas says, looking down at his plate for a moment. Flint sets down the bottle down on the table heavier on the table than he had intended, and Thomas glances up, smiling softly. “James is not the biggest fan of him.” 

 

“I had guessed,” Madi says, her eyes sharp on Flint for a moment before softening as they turn to Thomas. “Please, continue, if you would like.” 

 

“So yes, my father and I had a strained relationship,” Thomas tells her. “There were many factors involved, one of which was my relationships with men, yes, but even when I was a child, he did not…. favor me. I’m not sure how much Flint or Miranda might have told you - ?” 

 

“They have not spoken about your relationship with him much,” Madi says, and Flint feels the absence of her eyes on him just as strongly as if she was staring at him. “Having a parent be absent in that manner must have been difficult, I would imagine.” 

 

“Yes, well, he was a difficult man,” Thomas says. “I think the death of my mother might be part of it, but I’m not sure he ever liked her that much, either. I left his house at sixteen, and it was one of the best decisions that I’ve ever made. That, and building a life with James, and refusing to let my father touch our corner of the world."

 

In the silence that stretches out, Flint looks at Madi, who’s staring at Thomas - not with pity, which makes Flint glad because Thomas _hates_ even the suggestion that his life is one to be pitied - but with something much more somber, quiet, _angry_. He looks down at Thomas’s hands, then, palms down on the table, his thumb running up and down the side of his pointer finger like he’s deep in thought. 

 

Thomas is the first one to break the quiet. “Well,” he says, with a somewhat forced smile on his face as he pushes his chair out. “Alfred Hamilton is many things, and among those, I must say that he is not a delightful dinner conversation topic.” 

 

“Are you all right?” Flint asks, putting his hand on his husband's chair as the man rises. “Thomas?” 

 

“I’m just feeling rather tired,” Thomas says, taking his hand and kissing it. “I think I might go to bed early. Madi, if you would like to stay, of course, you are welcome here.” 

 

“Of course, thank you,” Madi says. “I will head back home, though. Thank you for dinner.” 

 

“I’ll walk you out,” Flint offers, and Madi looks at him long enough to give him an unreadable look before she nods, kissing Thomas on the cheek before getting her purse. 

 

Outside, Flint waits until they’re far enough from the door before he asks, “What is it?” 

 

It takes her a moment to respond, as they stand underneath a street lamp. When Madi turns to face him, there are dark shadows on her face that seem to emphasize the growing frown on her features. “I had assumed that your animosity with Alfred Hamilton was that he did not like the fact that his son was marrying a man,” Madi says, and there’s a tense undercurrent to her words as she stares up at him. “You did not inform me that there was more to the picture.” 

 

“What, that he was a terrible father?” 

 

“ _Yes_ ,” Madi emphasizes, “What Thomas just - _suggested_ , in there - “

 

“You can hardly be surprised,” Flint says, and he swallows. “No one, especially not Thomas, deserved him as a father.“

 

“It’s more than the past that I find myself having trouble with,” Madi says sharply, and he nearly takes a step back at the ferocity in her voice. “I find myself compromised at the idea of protecting that man now, and since I sincerely doubt that you don’t care about Thomas as much as I do, I wonder how you could have felt it was appropriate to _lie_ to me about your ability on this operation.” 

 

That makes Flint clench his jaw. “I didn’t lie to you,” he tells her. “I told you that I would remain impartial - “

 

“I don’t think you can,” Madi throws back at him, “Since I doubt I can, right now, and so I’ll ask you again, why would you lie to me?” 

 

“Because I know how Alfred Hamilton operates,” Flint snaps. “Thomas can never be a politician because of his influence. If I had any aspiration to return to the Navy, I couldn’t, because that’s what Alfred _does_.Thomas and I got married because he is the love of my life, and I’m his, and _Alfred Hamilton_  didn’t like that, so he made sure that whatever he could take away, he did.”

 

“James - “

 

“And so I don’t want to think about what he might do to an agent who works with me on _anything_ ,” Flint continues, feeling his pulse raise. “You’re excellent at what you do, and I consider you family. Neither of those will protect you against what Alfred Hamilton could do if this goes badly if he finds out that I’m working in a close capacity where he can reach out, even if I’m trying to make sure he doesn’t _fucking_ die. And while I’m forced to consider that, I have to _make sure_  that no one is going to put a bullet in him, even though I would pay someone to do it if I couldn’t have the pleasure of doing it myself!"

 

“What happened between you and Alfred Hamilton?” Madi exclaims. “What could have possibly happened to make him hate you so much? Is it simply the fact you took Thomas away from him?” 

 

“I humiliated him,” Flint tells her, and he’s told no one about this, not even Thomas. “When he cut Thomas out of his inheritance, out of the family, I went to his office. Thomas and I, we had a bad fight, and I wasn’t in my right mind. So in front of Alfred's colleagues, his partners, his friends, I told him that he could hate me all he wanted to, but if he chose not to acknowledge his only son, then he was more than a monster. I told him that he had a choice, and by choosing to be hateful, I hoped that he would die a slow, miserable death, with nothing but his money around him on his deathbed.” 

 

He exhales, as Madi watches him. “It was not… a fine moment, of mine. I’m banned from several corporate headquarters as a result.” 

 

Flint’s been dragged several times in his life, but he’ll admit, watching Alfred Hamilton’s face alternate between white with rage and the flush of embarrassment was worth the bruises the security guards had given him. 

 

Madi breathes in and out sharply, her nostrils flaring. “You could have _told me_ ,” she bites out, and they both fall in silence for the second time that night. Somewhere in the distance, there are crickets chirping, filling up the silence at least a little, as they both look away from each other, chests heaving.  

 

Now that the words are out, though, Flint feels guilt start to crawl up under his skin. After a few minutes of them just standing there, he swallows, considers Madi's clenched jaw. “I’m sorry,” Flint says quietly, as Madi looks off to the side. “I miss him, and it’s getting to me, more than usual. But that’s no excuse to snap at you.” 

 

“I miss him too,” Madi says, just as quietly, looking back at him. “Both John and Miranda… I’m not looking forward to going back to an empty house.” 

 

“I thought Gates would’ve found out about the incident,” Flint mutters, then says, “But I suppose Alfred’s influence reaches that far, too, to hide the report of what happened. When I saw that photo - God, I just want to tell Thomas, about the mission, about everything. But if we’re dealing with a rogue agent - “

 

“Any information could put him in danger,” Madi finishes. “I know. It is difficult for you, and the fact that you are attempting to be professional for the greater good… I admire you for it.” 

 

She reaches for his hand then, takes it between hers, and it's far more than he deserves. “I accept your apology. But please - if we are to be partners, we need to be honest with each other. Even if it is to accept the inevitable, we owe it to each other.” 

 

“I need to tell you, Alfred Hamilton is _terrible_ ,” Flint says, and Madi huffs out a small laugh. She raises his broad hand between her smaller ones, kisses his knuckles, and he swallows. “God, Madi -  I could never bring up the incident with Thomas because I don’t want him to spend another second of his life considering that man any more than he does.” 

 

“You care much,” Madi tells him, squeezing his hand. “I think that is what makes you an excellent agent, a good man. I think that’s what drew both Thomas and John to you in the first place. I only hope that this does not end with Alfred Hamilton discovering your role, and perhaps one day, you will not feel so guilty for standing up for your loved ones.” 

 

“You care just as much as I do, and it makes you a far better agent that you’re willing to deal with me and all of this,” Flint tells her. “If you would like, you can stay the night. You shouldn’t have to go back to an empty house  \- "

 

“It isn’t all that bad. I like having the bed all to myself,” Madi says, and her mouth quirks a little. “I think I need to be angrier with you for a little bit longer. But this was important to get clear, and I think better not just for the mission, but for both of us.”

 

“Agreed,” Flint says. “Madi - thank you.”

 

Madi nods to him, and Flint watches her drive away.

 

Back in the house, Thomas is already asleep when Flint comes back in. He resolves to clean the kitchen tomorrow, as he curls up in bed behind his husband, kissing the back of his neck, smoothing the sheets over them, before he's falling into a dreamless sleep. 

 

 

•••

 

 

“These tiny metal bits here, they’re moving in your muscle,” the doctor says, pointing to the x - ray as Silver fidgets on the paper they put on the examination table as he squints across the room at the illuminated screen. “You said you had this pain before?” 

 

“Yes,” Silver says, “But never this bad.” His leg still hurts, but the relief about finding out _what’s wrong with him_  nearly outweighs it. 

 

“Well, you’re lucky you came in,” the doctor tells him, writing something on the clipboard. “Injuries like this, it’s hard to get a good visual of, especially with the migrating objects, so I’m not surprised no one else picked up on it. You must have been in an incredible amount of pain.” 

 

“Well, yeah,” Silver says. “So what’s the treatment?” 

 

“It’s a relatively simple surgery,” the doctor tells him, writing something else. “They’ll remove the metal that they can, try to assuage the damage left behind, perhaps leave some of it behind.”

 

“And the recovery?” Silver asks. “Will I retain full use of my leg?” 

 

The doctor stops writing. “What is your occupation, again, Mr. Lancaster?”

 

“Ah, I’m a mechanic,” Silver says, shifting. “I’m on my feet a lot.” 

 

“Well, I’ll need to refer you to a surgeon, but I would presume that you’ll gain most of the function back,” the doctor says. “You know, you usually find these sorts of injuries in soldiers, law enforcement, the like.” 

 

“Is that so?” 

 

“Mr. Lancaster,” the doctor asks, “Do you know what might have caused you to get receive injury? You didn’t mention any acute injury in the region in your paperwork.” 

 

“No clue,” Silver lies. “So, when can I get my leg fixed?” 

 

 

•••

 

 

When he’s finally released, with a prescription for many painkillers and a crutch, he’s met with Anne Bonny leaning on the wall right outside the clinic. “Shit,” Silver says, then, “That’s it, then, isn’t it?”

 

“Billy has Logan as his assist now,” Anne tells him. “You’ve been pulled.” 

 

A dark car pulls up, and Silver follows Anne into the back seat. “I presume he called Eleanor?” 

 

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Anne tells him curtly, and Silver blinks, as the car takes off to whatever unknown destination. “Going into the field, knowing something was wrong  - “

 

“I didn’t - “ and Anne shoots him with a glare so potent, that even though Silver has literally been faced with murderers, his blood still runs cold for a moment. “- all right. But it wasn’t so bad before - say, how did you even know I was here?”

 

“Max hacked into the clinic’s database the moment Billy called,” Anne answers. “Flint know about this?”

 

“Flint?” 

 

“Yeah, Flint,” Anne says, looking rather more and more irritated with every moment. “He let you go like this?” 

 

“I don’t need _Flint’s_  permission to go into the field, thank you very much.” At Anne’s stare, Silver adds, “And he didn’t know.” 

 

He doesn’t expect Anne to whistle, lean back. “You’re with both Flint and Madi, right?” 

 

“Right.” 

 

“I went on an operation once, had my eye fucked up from a bomb that went off,” Anne tells him. Silver’s ever exchanged so many words with her in his life, so he just listens as she continues, “Nearly got shot because I didn’t aim correctly. Didn’t tell Max and Eleanor either, beforehand. They ripped me a new one when I got back. “

 

“Uh-huh.” When she doesn’t continue, Silver pointedly asks, “Is there a point to this?” 

 

“If they care about you, you should’ve told them,” Anne tells him severely, as the car slows to a stop in front of a red light. “That’s what you do. S’enough that’s fucked up in our line of work, you owe it to the people you love to tell them when you’re a little fucked up.” 

 

Well, he didn’t think of it like _that_. Anne scoffs at whatever comes across on his face. “I’m taking you back to London,” she says, the _you fucking idiot_ just implied now. “Max booked your surgery for tomorrow morning. Want some advice? Don’t continue fucking it up.” 

 

“Thanks,” Silver says, “I think.” 

 

 

•••

 

 

His phone rings twice before Thomas picks it up. “Hello?” 

 

There’s just heavy breathing. Thomas sets down his pen, pressing the earpiece against his head more firmly. “This is Professor Hamilton, can I help you?” 

 

“Your husband’s in danger,” the voice says - bland, unrecognizable - and then the call gets cut off just as suddenly. 

**Author's Note:**

> i'm @jamesbarlow on tumblr!


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